Planted in a Pickle Jar

Restington, West Virginia was not the sort of place people flocked to. It wasn’t well known by the people outside of its area. And the people who did know about it rarely desired to live there. After all, it was dangerous. Supposedly. Naethan wasn’t sure he believed the rumors of magical happenings and eerie laughs. Of course, that didn’t stop him from jumping at the opportunity to see one of the Eternal Ladies for himself.

Naethan watched Lydia as they walked down the path to Little Island. Her shoulders were tight, raised slightly. The knot in his stomach tightened. Internally, he debated whether to ask her if she was okay. He didn’t have to make the decision.

Lydia looked back at him, catching his gaze, “I already told you, I’m fine.”

Naethan raised his hands in mock defense, “I never said you weren’t.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Then why were you staring at me?”

He shrugged, “I was admiring your beauty.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, turning away from him.

They walked for a moment, steps almost in sync. Naethan watched as Lydia forced her shoulders to relax.

“Are you really sure you–”

She whipped around, “I’m okay.”

There was a sharpness to her voice which differed from her usually tone. Lydia must have noticed it too, because her tone softened with her next words.

“I’m okay, Naethan. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Naethan’s lips pressed together, forming a line for a moment, but he spoke, “Okay.”

He tried not to watch her so closely for the rest of the walk.

Later, they reached the island. A thick blanket of fog wrapped around them, as well as their surroundings. The air was cold, and Naethan watched as Lydia shivered slightly. He wished he had a jacket to offer her. Then, she froze, terror lighting in her eyes.

Before Naethan could react, Lydia was gone. A dandelion sprouted from the ground where she’d stood moments earlier.

He took a step backwards, heart pounding in his chest, “Lydia?”

There was no answer.

Naethan looked to the dandelion, the knot in his stomach replaced by a pit. Somehow, he knew that the dandelion was Lydia. Or, at least, that it had been. And, whether he liked it or not, she was stuck as a flower forever.

No. She was still Lydia. She had to be. She couldn’t be…gone. Not really. And she certainly couldn’t be stuck as a dandelion. Lydia didn’t even like dandelions.

Naethan knelt before her, the damp dirt soiling his jeans.

His voice cracked slightly as he whispered, “I will bring you back. I promise.”

Did he have any idea how to fulfill that promise? No. But that wasn’t about to stop him. Standing, he racked his brain for a solution. An idea began to form.

If it was the Eternal Ladies who’d transformed her–and Naethan was now certain that it was–then, logically, they’d be able to turn her back. Hopefully. All he had to do was find them. Or, one of them at least. The opposite one as whoever had changed her.

He sprinted home.

Naethan poured pickle brine into his kitchen sink, watching as it swirled down the drain. Normally, he would drink the stuff, but he needed the jar. He needed it immediately. He turned on the faucet, rinsing the jar out once. Then twice. Then three times. The cool water splashed onto his shirt. Once he was satisfied with the jars cleanliness, he turned off the faucet, then screwed the lid on. Then, he ran from his house to Lydia’s.

Naethan ran up the concrete steps to her porch, where she kept some of her most used garden supplies. He sifted through them, looking for her trowel. The one with the blue polka-dotted handle. He found it quickly, then left the porch, heading back to Little Island.

Scanning the ground as he approached, Naethan found her quickly. Then he knelt before her once more. He dug into the dirt with her trowel, making sure to dig far enough away from her that he wouldn’t damage her roots. It almost made him sick to think that they’d been carelessly tearing dandelions from the ground just hours earlier.

Once he’d dug her out of the ground, he gently placed her in the pickle jar. Luckily, it was an almost perfect fit. Carefully, he filled in the gaps with more soil before screwing the lid on.

Naethan stood, holding the jar carefully, “Sorry, Lydia, you’re kind of stuck in here now.”

His steps were slow as he walked back along the path to his house. He held the jar to his chest, praying that he wouldn’t drop it. Opening the door to his house, which he’d left unlocked, he placed the jar on the bookshelf near the door. A sigh escaped him.

Bartholomeow padded towards Naethan, orange fur outlined in golden sunlight. The cat nuzzled against his legs, running the entire length of its body across Naethan’s dirt-stained jeans. The orange tabby meowed. Naethan stroked his soft fur four times before striding to his bedroom.

The door hung open as it always did, allowing Naethan access to his untidy bedroom. A black t-shirt he’d been meaning to wash hung on his bedpost. Several somewhat important papers had fallen from his shelves, scattering across the ground. His bed was left unmade. His black dress shoes left beneath his bed. If given more time, Naethan might have finally cleaned his room, as he always neglected to, but, it seemed, that time was not likely to supply itself.

Naethan opened his closet door, scanning his haphazardly hung clothes for a moment before grabbing his battered black suitcase from the top shelf. He searched through the zippered pockets of the suitcase, checking whether it was fully empty. It was. Mostly. A toothbrush had been left in the smallest pocket. Naethan opened the ziplock which contained the green-handled toothbrush, wincing as he smelled it. He promptly threw it away.

As Naethan rifled through his clothes, he grabbed five t-shirts, three pairs of pants, and all of his clean socks and underwear. He packed them into the suitcase neatly, unsure sure when or even if he’d return. He put on the grey baseball cap he’d gotten from an SLCC open house, tracing over the white embroidered letters. Then, he looked through his bookshelf. Naethan flipped through his journals, packing the two already full ones into the bag, along with a clean one. Of the others he only took the most important pages, tearing them out and positioning them between the pages of his filled journals.

Then, he looked through his books. Specifically, he looked for The Horse and his Boy by C.S. Lewis. Finding the old book, he packed it away.

He went to the bathroom, gathering a comb, his toothbrush, some soap, and a towel. He packed them in the suitcase as well.

Naethan left much of what he owned, but he took what he thought he needed, including the pickle jar. Then, he drove away in his silver Honda Pilot.

He turned back after only a few minutes of driving.

He’d forgotten Bartholomeow. How had he forgotten Bartholomeow?

Naethan opened the door to his house once more, though this time he’d locked it. He found the cat carrier he’d brought Bartholomeow home from the shelter in, and coaxed the cat inside before loading the crate into his car. Then, he remembered Piper. The little grey terrier was probably incredibly lonely inside of Lydia’s house. Naethan ran up the steps again, hoping the door wouldn’t be locked. His hopes proved correct. The tiny grey ball of energy bounded towards him, jumping up and pawing at his shins. He her up before bringing her to the car. He’d figure out what to do with them.

Finally, he set off.